


Michael Is Trying Her Best

by Echalion



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: After-effects of abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, I’m an emotional sadist, Kinda, M/M, Protective Michael (Good Omens), Psychological Torture, Sad Gabriel (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns For God (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), Slave Gabriel (Good Omens), Slow Burn, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Torture, Traumatized Gabriel (Good Omens), unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echalion/pseuds/Echalion
Summary: (Based heavily off of Descent Into Perdition [https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096])Gabriel was acting strange. Distant, lately, and this picks up Michael's watchful eye. Painful wounds appear seemingly out of nowhere, and Gabriel denies anything happening, but Michael knows better. Gabriel slowly descends into self-destructive behavior, seemingly no longer caring about living, bordering on suicidal, and while Michael tries her best to help him, there isn't much she can do.Until, she finds out for herself what happened.What do you get when you mix a caring demon, a sadistic angel, a broken brother, and a wrathful sister?Chaos.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Michael (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens), Gabriel & Michael (Good Omens)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 38
Collections: Descent Into Perdition and DiP-verse Works





	1. Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Descent Into Perdition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place somewhere after Crowley knows, and started helping Aziraphale, but before the two weeks. Tbh, idk the specific chapter, but it's before Gabriel's fully broken.

Michael was worried.

That was an understatement, it seemed to her the entirety of  _ heaven _ was worried.

She’d have mere fledglings come to her office, wringing their fingers nervously and politely asking what was going on with Archangel Gabriel. She’d overhear angels quietly chattering in hushed tones settled in the corners of rooms, the word ‘ _ Gabriel’  _ being tossed about frequently. 

Angels who barely had any experience with him could tell obviously something was wrong. 

The once talkative and very easily frustrated archangel had suddenly gone completely _silent_.

Though she coldly scolded them, and told them they had other things to be concerned about than the welfare of an archangel, that they had other things to be focusing on, she said this because in truth she didn’t know the answer herself. 

It seemed like a sudden shift in his mood, a crack in his personality that slowly fractured, splitting him in half. Even though she was never fond of his arrogance, she’d give anything to hear his gloating egotism just for a moment. Maybe overhear him swear off at some  poor angel. 

Just so she’d know he was  _ okay _ . 

...

He seemed so… broken. 

Quiet. 

Secluded.

When she’d catch his eyes just for a moment in the white hallways of heaven, she’d see the vacancy in them. 

Emptiness. 

There was just something so very blatantly  _ wrong _ about the uninhabited glassiness in his eyes and the distance he seemed to separate himself from everyone else as if he wished he could fade into the wall, something she wished she could just miracle away. 

She could hear her heartbeat start up in her ribs as he avoided her questioning concerned protruding gaze as they grazed each other in the hallways.

She did everything in her power to keep herself steady, resist the urge to gently grab him by the shoulders, calmly drag him to her office, and forcefully interrogate him on what was going on. 

But, by the way he gracelessly and rather abruptly cut any conversation once someone would ask the slightest resemblance to the question ‘ _ Are you alright?’,  _ she knew with certainty that a cold hard-boiled approach to this would make him recoil from her further. 

Maybe to the point of no return.

She’d watch her little brother, occasionally. 

When the illusion on his windows were down, she’d occasionally ( _ and rather shamefully _ ) sneak a little peek around the corner of the hallway. Just the smallest look to check up on how he was doing. 

Just professional checkup, is what she told herself. Just a professional checkup on what he was working on, not that she was in any way  _ worried _ for him. 

It felt like her chest stung as she watched Gabriel silently do paperwork, before lightly setting his pen down, resting his head slowly on his messy unkempt desk.

His shoulders would shake a little, not enough to be visible to a distracted passerby. It looked as if he was trying to push off the weight of the world on his back, tired of carrying heavy, dark secrets. 

And he’d just lie there, on his desk, his head in his arms, his eyes wide open, but no longer completely  _ there _ . 

She knew without a doubt he was seeing something else at those moments, those _horrible_ silent moments. 

...He wouldn’t stop shaking.

She, at these moments, was acutely aware of the unrelenting mercy of The Almighty. 

Any god slightly less merciful would’ve incinerated whatever had caused her little brother such torment right where it was standing. 

She had her own theories of course, of what happened, as did everyone else in heaven. 

Maybe a couple of demons were troubling him? Maybe he got stupidly involved with some powerful people in hell? ( _ He did get close to that Prince Beezelbub, now that she thought about it. _ ) Maybe he’d still been frightened by the traitor’s escape?

She couldn’t place it, and she likely never would. 

Not if she didn’t take a risk.

She knocked gently on the door of his office, leaning a little into the door, before taking a respectful step back as she looked into her reflection. 

She looked calm, level-headed ( _ as she always has _ ) but  _ lost _ .  Unable to deal with the situation. 

Angels were never too good at emotions. 

Her head turned towards the window, which she saw Gabriel violently  _ jerk  _ up from his desk, his eyes wide, sheer terror coming off his expression, his face pale, tired, aged and drained, hitting his knee under his desk rather painfully, but he made no noise. 

And, just as quickly as the absolute panic came, it faded from his expression, suddenly he looked ... _ normal _ , too normal to seem any bit natural, like he’d just realized how he looked. 

There was something so revoltingly nauseating about that quiet look of obedience behind his eyes.

“Gabriel… we need to talk.” She asked calmly through the door, rather quietly.

“Just a minute.” He replied, sounding distant, and a little hazy, pulling down his sleeves for a few seconds before heading towards the door. He opened it, greeting Michael with his usual smile, the wrinkles in his eyes seeming to fit perfectly into place, like it’d been well practiced. 

Michael wasn’t an idiot. 

“So, what’s the issue? Did I miss another meeting? Yeah, fuck- sorry Michael, I’m just not feeling too good lately-” 

“No, it’s not that.” She responded, interrupting him, before blinking and turning to look around his slightly cluttered office. 

It was usually so well-kept. Gabriel had always been a somewhat of a neat freak, doing his best to keep up the appearance of himself and everything that belonged to him. Now, paperwork was scattered about on his desk, unfinished and  _ messy,  _ pens and pencils astray from their respective cups, and the clothing- the  _ clothing.  _

Some of his clothes were strewn across the floor, precious personal articles of clothing that he’d never treat with such disrespect. 

That shocked Michael the most.

Gabriel seemed to follow her gaze, reading her expression with startling clarity, and gave an indifferent shrug, giving a low chuckle. 

“...I really let myself go, haven’t I?” He said, with a slightly humorous tone. Michael was not amused.

“I needed to talk to you about your…” She said, composed before she paused, realizing a bit of her usual iciness slipped into her tone, quickly amending it, contemplating his suddenly still frozen expression on his face. “...Behavior… as of late.” She continued much softer. 

If it weren’t for the humming in the background, Michael would guess at this moment that the entirety of heaven was emptied, the two of them standing in this room. 

Alone. 

Sister and brother. 

Gabriel went silent, the look on his face suddenly unreadable as the thick, heavy silence weighed on the two. She couldn’t see anything coherent behind his eyes, but whatever he was feeling made Michael feel uneasy. Fear?

What could scare an archangel?

She watched him look away, still holding that somewhat forced smug smile of his, but it seemed much more... resigned. 

Tired. 

She was familiar with the frustrated, passive-aggressive, forced smiles Gabriel would usually give when he really wanted to show how much he  _ hated  _ something, but this smile was entirely different. 

This… ‘new’ smile he invented… it served the purpose _ of covering something up.  _ It seemed like he was really  _ trying  _ to smile- trying his best to assure her that all was well, that he was okay, but it showed in the little cracks of his mask, something heavy and  _ saddening  _ seeping out. 

He was  _ not  _ okay. 

“...May I come in?” Michael asked after a moment of silence, and Gabriel nodded mutely, moving to his desk, leaning back in his comfortable plush leather chair, giving a weighty sigh, looking at Michael who was sitting cross-legged across from him. 

“... _ Behavior _ . Pff. I’ve been doing good, like work wise, right? Submitting the right forms and stuff. I don’t get it, I told you, I’m  _ fine _ .” He said, in a familiar annoyed tone, but it seemed much more dispassionate than usual. 

She knew he didn’t mean it, which concerned her. 

Michael visibly frowned, drinking in the heavy silence for a little bit, before giving a light sigh herself.

“...Are you… alright, Gabriel?” Michael asked as steadily as she could, though rather reluctantly. 

T hose words weren’t often heard in heaven among archangels. 

Gabriel fell silent, his eyes glazing over, fading out, stuck in a mute stupor for a long suffering minute, before something in his face changed. 

His expression changed abruptly, his eyes hard, panicked, and cold, his entire body as tense and stiff as a board. 

Thoughts echoed in his head, and high emotions coursed through his veins, emotions that she had yet to understand, and yet his intense, pained gaze was fixated on  _ her.  _

“... _ I’m... fine. _ ” He whispered, stiffly, not providing much information, looking away, idly and thoughtlessly grazing his fingers over his watch. 

The words sounded so much more forced, like they barely escaped his tightening throat. He lightly cleared his throat, letting his smug smile grace his lips again, though his smile looked like it lost much of it’s spicy sarcastic essence. 

H e let out a half-hearted chuckle. 

“Look, jeez lady, you don’t need to worry about me. Literally just been feeling a little down, I don’t see what the big deal is-”

“You’ve been disappearing.” Michael interrupted softly, though her quiet concerned but intruding tone sounded like it could move mountains. “Abandoning work regularly on certain days of the week.”

Gabriel paused, his mouth hanging open before he shut it, clenching his jaw before visibly trying to relax his body. 

Michael didn’t notice how fidgety he was until now, like he had pent up energy, his leg bouncing in place and his fingers drumming against the expensive hardwood of his table. Was he anxious…? 

Michael felt her stomach churn. 

Gabriel was never anxious, always flowing with confidence. A little too confident for his own good, sure. But, she never thought she’d see the day when her little brother was...  _ scared _ .

“...Yeah, I’m jogging. Duh.” He said a little hoarsely, his words lightly mocking, but his tone sounded so very meek and small. 

“I just… feel so- uh,  _ overwhelmed _ sometimes so I jog, and… I guess I lose track of time… My bad, really. Don’t I feel  _ stupid _ ...” He scoffed. 

His words trailed off, clearly dissociating a little from the conversation, remembering a memory she didn’t see, as his eyes grew exhausted and empty. Michael grew more concerned by the minute, as he looked up at her with misplaced frustration. 

“Seriously, don’t you have better things to do than  _ interrogate  _ me? Like watch hell or something? I’m not that important-”

“You’re Archangel Gabriel. You’re the messenger of God. What has gotten  _ into _ you.” She said with a calm quietness to her voice that had an edge to it, her brows furrowed. 

...What happened to him? 

Gabriel shifted in his place uncomfortably, idly playing with the watch on his wrist. 

She softened her tone, leaning forward. 

“You  _ lead _ people, brother, with your words. And you’re  _ good _ at it. No one else can-”

“I just got LUCKY, okay?” He suddenly abruptly snapped out, his fists balled, clearly frustrated. 

“I…  _ God,  _ I was just picked because- there was no one else for the fucking job! I don’t...” 

He took a sharp inhale, the smile still stuck on his face, like he’d forgotten he left it there, before he let out a shuddering breath, holding his head in his hands, like his entire facade collapsed within a few seconds.  It all came tumbling down so quickly, the vacancy behind his eyes quickly bubbling up, revealing a broken figure. 

His smile was wiped from his face, leaving a grim, tired, exhausted figure. 

He looked… so… exhausted, yet, he was still struggling to pick up the pieces.

Michael didn’t know what to say, left shocked and speechless, hoping somehow that her expression would say all her words for her. 

All of her thoughts at that moment left.

After a long moment of silence, the air damp and thick, Michael spoke, carefully steady. 

“...You don’t what?”

Gabriel’s fists trembled in his hair, his shoulders rising as he took a deep breath to steady himself. He looked up at Michael for a moment, dropping his arms as he stared into a pen, his bright violet eyes now seeming void of color. 

He pressed his lips into a thin straight line, thinking to himself silently as he slowly met eyes with her, a feeling of light humiliation grazing his features. He looked at her, then back at his hands.

“... _ Deserve it _ .” He shakily and very quietly finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michael fell suddenly silent.

Emotions were a rather human concept. And she considered herself quite good at detecting it. She knew the right things to say, she knew the right buttons to press. 

She was rather good at seeing emotions in other people but, she never was too good at deciphering emotions that she felt. 

Though, at this moment, she understood. 

She was angry. 

She knew she was angry. Not at him, but angry nonetheless. She felt such an intense burst of emotion for her brother, so much she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it. 

Such pity, such rage, such  _ sorrow.  _

Some things she hasn’t felt in quite a long time. 

Gabriel looked haunted, suddenly pale as he felt waves of her emotional outburst of wrath come towards him, as if the angelic blood from his face drained from his face.  He gripped his armrests so tightly that his knuckles went pure white, feeling rooted to his chair as he stared, not really seeing anything, avoiding looking at Michael. 

She gave a slow breath, reading his reaction with heavy eyes as she uncrossed her legs, leaning towards him slowly. She frowned for a long moment, searching his eyes, her gaze strangely soft though a waft of pained frustration came off of her prior, which she quickly suppressed. 

She tilted her head, trying to catch his stare. 

“...Hey.” She said, quietly. “Look at me.”

Surprisingly, he almost immediately compliantly listened, though the wariness in his eyes spoke volumes to her. She silently realized he  _ might _ have thought she was gonna hurt him if he didn’t listen, which she ignored, but the thought sickened her greatly. 

“Do you trust The Almighty?” She asked, in a low, much softer voice.

“Yeah, of course-”

“Then, you trust Her giving you this position?” Michael interrupted delicately, not breaking eye contact as she looked through him.

“Do you trust our lord, who believes in you as much as I do right now? She didn’t give you this position  _ just because,  _ Gabriel, she  _ knows  _ you’re one of the only angels who can do it right. And, I believe in you too. You are a confident leader well-deserving of respect and admiration, one that heaven deserves, and I don’t want to hear you speaking of yourself in this manner-”

“But I’m so- so self-absorbed, and- and arrogant- and I’m just so  _ hypocritical,  _ and I just-” His voice came out shaking, frustrated, bitter, as if he knew something she didn’t understand, his words barely stringing together a cohesive sentence. 

He scrambled to defend his self-hatred, as if he  _ genuinely  _ believed Michael was in the wrong, which shocked Michael a great deal.

“You’re my brother.” She cut him off immediately, her voice completely steady. “We’ve been together since we were fledglings.  _ I know you _ . I know that you can be arrogant at times, and I know for a fact that you can be annoying at times, but I can  _ assure  _ you that you aren’t any of that right now. ...You seem so…” 

She paused, her gaze gentling on him, with a slight sting of sympathy as she saw the sorrow in his eyes. 

“Tired.”

“I…” Gabriel whispered hoarsely and unsteadily. 

Michael slowly and cautiously grazed the back of Gabriel’s hand, looking keenly, watching his expression. She found nothing in it, his eyes retreating back to a safe distance, watching the scene from afar. 

Gabriel didn’t jerk away like she expected. He didn’t jump. He was still, oh so  _ still.  _ So still, it seemed unnaturally and sickeningly forced. Michael slowly removed her hand, frowning at him. 

“No matter how much you try to convince me, I believe that you’re worthy. I believe you’re a good person. And I’ll never stop believing you’re a good person, because…”

She paused, before looking at him directly in the eyes.

“...I… I  _ appreciate _ \- ...You mean the  _ world _ \- ...You’re one of my  _ dearest- _ ” She said, with sisterly affection written into her eyes, before suddenly cutting herself off, not being able to bring herself to say it, before she swallowed her emotions. 

She looked around cautiously, as if searching diligently for someone who was watching this unfold, somewhere in the background, before turning back to Gabriel.

“No, no...” She muttered.

She went silent, taking a long deep breath as she steadied her gaze on him, before giving a slow rare small, warm, genuine smile.

_ “I love you, brother.”  _

Gabriel suddenly went quiet, though his jaw wasn’t tight like it was before. He looked up at her with a glint of sadness in his eyes, searching hers for answers, as if he wondered if she really  _ believed  _ herself. If she really cared about him. He was her brother, for heaven’s sake, of course she cared about him. 

He thickly swallowed, before painfully putting on that fake forced  _ everything’s alright  _ smile, though it seemed much more shaky. 

Fragile. 

Unstable. 

Like, the slightest touch could send everything shattering, in countless directions. His shoulders trembled slightly as his eyes grew distant staring off into the wall.

Before he started crying.

Tears rolled down his smiling cheeks, before his face slowly dropped to an agonizingly pained, anguished expression. His silent tears slowly faded to choked shaking sobs, as he struggled to breathe. 

Michael wasn’t sure what to do, and sat there silently, frozen, unsure what to do, and still, before she quietly and slowly reached out her hand over his desk and grasped Gabriel’s tightly. 

He slowly returned the squeeze as his breath quickened, a never-ending stream of anguished tears flowing down his cheeks, sobbing into his free hand. 

She didn’t judge him. 

She didn’t pity him. 

Her eyes looked over him, trying her best to know what he was feeling, trying to  _ understand  _ him to the best of her ability. Though she couldn’t, she did her _best_ to understand, and that’s really all that mattered. 

“... _ I’m sorry _ .” He choked out quietly in the midst of the silence. 

Michael shook her head, looking at him.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” She said calmly, and gently, searching his big beautiful purple eyes. “It’s alright. Please, just let it out.”

And, he did. 

The room echoed with the sounds of Gabriel’s suffering sounds, those awful sounds, and Michael sat patiently, composed and collected, holding her brother’s hand. She had no idea what made him feel this way, though she did her best to comfort him, tightening her grip gently in his. 

The room was filled with a depressing note of tormented muffled cries, leaving the air thick and heavy.

As Gabriel slowed his breaths, Michael slowly let go of her grip on his hand, instead comfortably resting it on top of it. 

“...You can tell me anything, do you understand?” She said quietly, looking at him. Her words sounded so genuine, so warm, that Gabriel’s eyes shifted to the window behind her, feeling undeserving and ineligible for her care. For her sympathy. 

“Please, Gabriel. You’ve been acting different ever since the traitors escaped, and I’ve been concerned ever since then. You haven’t been acting like yourself, you seem so  _ heavy _ and  _ weighted _ . Just…  _ talk to me. _ ”

His mouth hung open, agape, looking into her bright blue eyes, seriously  _ considering  _ it, before hesitantly closing his jaw, turning his head away. The silence drew on for a long while before a look of dark shame crossed him. 

“...I… I can’t-”

“Gabriel- _ ” _

“I  _ CAN’T.  _ THEY- _ ”  _ He snapped out suddenly and quickly before stopping, looking pale, giving a shaky sigh. 

He looked resigned. 

Michael’s eyes widened as she digested the words.

“ _ ‘They…?’”  _ Michael asked in a whisper. 

Gabriel froze in a panic for a moment, thickly swallowing, before quickly stiffening, giving a smile waving it off. 

“It’s nothing-”

“Gabriel who are ‘ _ they _ .’” She demanded calmly, a little sharper than she intended. 

She at that moment felt a flurry of wrath overcome her. She at that moment was willing to go to war for her brother, and Gabriel knew that.  He knew that well. 

He looked at his watch suddenly, his wrist sharply and unexpectedly came to his eyes in the middle of the conversation, his face dropping.  Michael felt her heart skip a beat as every little bit of comfort she tried so carefully to make Gabriel feel in their conversation fell so  _ so  _ quickly. 

His eyebrows shot up in pure unfiltered panic, every bone in his body going tense as he gave a very hasty forced smile directed towards Michael, but not looking at her. 

“...I’m gonna jog, see you later.” Gabriel said in a whisper, as if he barely got the words out of his throat.

“Wait-” She hurriedly rushed out as she jumped from her chair, towards Gabriel, desperately trying to grab his wrist. “Brother-”

But, she was too late. 

He disappeared yet again.


	2. Interrogation

They _._

_They._

Who were they? Beezelbub? A group of powerful demons who’ve already sadly taken out their frustration on an archangel? Michael was at a loss at the moment, unable to come to a solid conclusion without any evidence.

But, one thing she was sure of more than anything, was that Gabriel was hiding something from her.

From _her._

It’d be a lie if she said that the implications didn’t sting a little, that he didn’t trust her enough to hold a secret like that.

She let out a sigh as she looked through reports of the demonic activity on earth. Ever since the.... Armage _didn’t_ , demonic activity ( _at least on earth)_ was at an all-time low. So was angelic activity, since there hadn’t been any demonic… _things_ to thwart, defeat, and make examples out of. 

But, there was one outlier among the records.

In London.

Crawley.

_The demon who just didn’t die._

It had been using frivolous amounts of demonic miracles, such of an excessive amount that it could be picked up by even _heaven._ It showed in the report that there were even traces of _hellfire_ being used, which greatly concerned her. Maybe the traitors were planning a mass attack on heaven? They wanted to be left alone, didn’t they?

So, why would they risk garnering hell or heaven's attention with _this_?

She leaned back in her chair, examining it, before letting out a light sigh, slapping the paper on her desk.

It was getting harder for her to focus, with Gabriel just dramatically _leaving_ like that. She very quickly concluded that he obviously wasn’t jogging, no, not at all. She even tried feeling for him on earth, searching his presence, reaching out, but to no avail. She could barely feel a trace of him anywhere, not that she was too particularly worried that he was taken forever, or something.

He always came back.

She briefly considered searching hell, but quickly considered that a bad idea. Though she was an archangel, stepping onto hell territory completely unprompted and uninvited was walking on thin ice.

Dangerous.

That is, without a plan. She _could_ just order angels to ransack some of hell in search of Gabriel, but she wasn’t stupid, she was well aware of the political concequenses of such a bold action.

Though, at this moment she was all for ‘bold actions.’ 

She glanced at the file on her desk, suddenly focused on the demonic report at hand, her eyes narrowing at the piece of paper. Her hand slowly reached for it, bringing it back up to her eyes, her lips pressed tightly into a thin straight line.

This had to mean something, right?

It wasn’t a coincidence, was it?

Her gaze intensified on the photo of the not-demon, glaring a hole through it before setting down the sheet of paper.

Only one thing could really harm an angel.

Hellfire.

And, here, _Crawley_ was producing copious amounts of it.

Maybe it was threatening Gabriel with it, she presumed, forcing her poor brother to do it’s bidding like some sick _pet_ . Maybe even ...torturing him with it? Just for _kicks_. A familiar feeling of quiet venom rose in her, as she stared at the report, not really reading the words.

She paused, setting down the paper gently, before leaning forward on her desk. She looked at a nearby angel from her division, signalling for them to come into her office. She gave a small, cold smile.

“Prepare the void for interrogation. Use the wards.” She said quietly, menacingly calm, in a low voice.

* * *

Crowley stumbled into his flat, holding onto the walls for dear life, feeling as if he had barely any control over his appendages.

He felt like he was gonna collapse at any moment, his legs buckling under him. He let out a heavy sigh as he slumped over his throne-like chair, as if he were a blanket, pressuring himself and quickly sobering up, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

He felt a sitting feeling of dread roll inside his stomach, something heavy bubbled up as soon as he could think coherently.

Aziraphale.

The name that once made him feel warm and toasty only now left a grim outline of what he once was. Just _seeing_ what he’d done to Gabriel just made him want to pull back from him further. The tangled mix of blood and sweat. The haunted, pale, petrified look on his face.

He was no longer sure if Aziraphale was willing to hurt him or not, after seeing the apathetic look of disdain he gave him.

He frowned, a mixture of anger and sadness, rubbing his eyes under his sunglasses. Maybe Aziraphale would just stop one day, get bored, and just leave Gabriel alone. He hoped he’d just stop one day, and he’d go to that loving angel he’d been with all these years. He looked through the window, giving a heavy sigh-

Before, he paused. 

He looked at a glint of a reflection in the window through his fingers.

Something white. 

_Standing directly behind him._

Before he had the time to harshly jump up from his seat at the realization, a wet ragged cloth pressed against his face firmly, violently and roughly, and he yelled hoarsely for help, feeling the world slowly slip away from his fingers.

_Nononono- FUCK-_ He violently struggled to stay awake, screaming and kicking as much as he could, forcibly struggling to get those _damn_ fingers off of his mouth, but to no avail.

He could feel the feeling in his fingers slowly slip away, the life quickly sucked out of his body in the matter of a few seconds, losing his grip on his body as he slowly went _limp_. He struggled, and oh boy did he struggle. But, in the end, it didn’t matter.

This being _severely_ overpowered him.

As the feeling in his body slowly came to a mind numbing empty hum, their delicate fingers grazed the edge of his jaw, before caressing the side of his jawbone downward, dragging their finger to his chin, pushing it gently up with a knuckle. He met eyes, his eyes widening a little in realization, recognizing that cold, hard gaze. 

Michael.

“I…” He whispered, before she quietly shushed him, pressing a finger to his lips. 

“You’ve said enough.” She said, her voice _dangerously_ low.

And then, in a faded snap, the world plummeted to _black_. 

…

His eyes groggily opened after a long _suffocating_ moment of nothingness, his extremities numb and asleep, before he winced painfully through his sunglasses.

Bright.

Bright, bright white, white that coated every surface.

Clean, smooth, and clinical, the room didn’t seem to have a start or a stop, just a white void blending into the light, a vast expanse of nothingness. He knew where he was.

_Heaven._

Or- some vague version of it.

He struggled against his leather cuffs, trying to rip it apart merely by using his corporation's strength, various extremely powerful sigils and runes burned neatly into the inside and outside of it. He could feel the power emanating from the leather, the intense, _raw_ power. It felt like he was carrying a live bomb on his wrists. He knew he couldn’t do anything anything right now. 

He’d be flattered that they thought of him as that powerful.

If it didn’t scare him.

“You’re awake.” Michael stated, matter-of-factly, stepping through a gateway that didn’t exist just a second prior. It seamlessly closed just as quickly as it came, leaving no entrance or exit.

“Could’ve just sent a text.” Crowley replied sarcastically, looking up at her, but the anxiety stirred in him. The way that she stared through him, gave him chills. Her cold eyes, the way her lips were pressed into a small, thin, tight smile set off alarm bells in his head.

She wanted to know something from him, and he knew exactly what it was. 

_Gabriel_.

“You can try killing me. Destroying heaven. Whatever you can do. But, whatever abilities you have are limited to this void.” She walked towards him slowly, deliberately, but ...somewhat hesitantly. She watched Crowley carefully, no micro-expression and fidget went unnoticed. Crowley felt uneasy. “If you kill me, you’re stuck here forever.”

Crowley glared at her standing up defensively, despite in cuffs.

“What about Aziraphale then? What about him? He’ll notice I’m gone, he always does. Let me _go_.” He hissed. It was all empty threats, he knew he had no power here. He hated how he, without hesitation, turned to Aziraphale to save him. 

Michael tilted her head. “It won’t take much time. In fact, it won’t take any time at all.” She said, walking in front of him. Crowley subconsciously took a slight step back, which he realized to be a mistake, because Michael seemed to take a mental note of that, and continued her slow, intentionally heavy steps. “We’re in the _i_. Where nothing never occurs. To the world, you don’t matter. As they should. No one will even notice you’re gone, and if they do...” She leaned in. "I doubt they'll find you."

Crowley thickly swallowed, suddenly aware his throat was dry.

Then, Michael suddenly sharply grabbed Crowley’s neck, whipping her arm, _jerking_ him up, holding him in the air as her grip tightened harshly around his throat and he struggled to breathe for a long moment, desperately clawing at her fingers. He could barely breathe, feeling her nails dig into his throat painfully, and his eyes watered as he kicked in the air for a long moment.

He could feel himself slowly going limp again, losing feeling in his fingers.

“...Where is Gabriel?” Michael demanded quietly, the protective anger clear in her voice, narrowing her eyes at him as he took a shuddering, wheezing inhale, his sunglasses shattering on the floor. 

“...F-Fuck ...you-” He forced out hoarsely, with a small smug smile, trying to breathe.

It was hard for him to think.

Michael threw him to the ground with intense force, a bone in him landing with a _crack,_ his body crumpling like balled paper as he wheezed, trying to distraughtly regain his trembling breath. He held his neck with his shaking fingers, desperately stumbling to crawl away as Michael slowly advanced. 

“You’ve been using a noticeable amount of hellfire lately. Wish to explain, _serpent_?” She said it venomously, angrily, the wrath rising in her tone.

Crowley instinctively held his restrained arms up, shielding his face, his heart pounding, on the brink of hyperventilating. He knew, if he told her, Aziraphale was _fucked._ Even though he’d been... dangerous lately… somewhere, deep down, Crowley still loved him. He always would. Loving someone for six-thousand years definitely has its pros and cons.

“I don’t _know-”_ He said, his voice trembling, but very clearly frustrated. 

“I don’t tolerate _lies-”_

“ _I DON’T KN-”_

Suddenly.

Everything _burned_. 

_Burned._

It _hurthurthurt_ so much, he couldn’t even let a whisper out, his mouth agape, before a _blood curdling,_ agonizing _scream_ was forced out of his throat, several seconds delayed. He felt like his vocal cords were violently _ripped_ right out, bare and raw, the side of his face felt like it’s _skin_ was peeled _off,_ and rubbed with salt and lemon juice.

He collapsed to the ground, on his side, panting and shaking quietly, as he struggled to get up, looking at Michael in an intense panic, still feeling the pain pulsate on his cheek, spreading throughout his body like an infection. 

She looked _very_ surprised, her eyes wide as she watched him, before calmly and slowly looking at the glowing white whip in her hand.

She gave a small, fake smile.

“...You’re not immune in here, are you?” At Crowley’s lack of response, the tearing pain making it hard for him to focus, writhing on the floor, struggling to keep his arm steady, she shook her head. “...That makes this a lot easier for me then.” She said slowly, before raising the whip again.

“WAIT _WAIT-_ ” He screamed out hoarsely, as his hand shot up defensively, sounding urgent, begging, _pleading_. He couldn’t stop shaking. Michael paused, lowering it as she patiently listened. He took a moment to breathe, meeting her eyes.

“...I- I just made the equipment, aight? I didn’t do- whatever things you think I did-” He whispered in a brittle voice with a hiss, giving a weak bitter glare.

_“Equipment?”_ She interrupted sharply, her shoulders broadening as she dropped herself to his level.

He couldn’t help but flinch, protectively crawling backwards, not enough though. She forcefully and roughly grabbed his wrist, hoisting him up as he gave a startled noise. She grabbed him by the collar, looking him icily in the eyes. _Psychopath._ “What _equipment?”_ She demanded.

Crowley thickly swallowed, looking at her before shifting his gaze to the ground, his mouth open as he struggled to find an answer that wouldn’t hurt Aziraphale. “...I… I didn’t know what they were used for. But- I made ...hellfire ...torture devices.” He hissed out with dispassionate annoyance.

All seemed to go silent at that moment, Michael just staring at him, not exactly processing the information. Her gaze darkened slowly, and he felt himself try and recoil from her touch, trying to pull away.

Hateful anger stirred in her, her eyes glaring into him like knives, cutting into Crowley. He’d seen that look on Aziraphale countless times before, that intense look of apathetic anger, the very definition of angelic wrath.

Now, the main difference was, it was focused directly on _him_.

She threw him to the ground, violently, and he fell on his knees. With a quick snap of her fingers, he found his back was bare. Before he could even say anything, the sound of an echoing whip _snapped_ across the air, and he felt his body collapse in on itself, the glowing leather carving into him like a very dull knife, before leaving him to feel like his entire _back_ was on fire.

He gave a tormented, genuinely _chillingly_ pained scream, though barely any sound came out, his throat completely fried. He felt a few tears roll down silently as he staggered to hold himself up using his palms.

Though, before she could land another blow, her hand raised in the air, she paused for a long moment, taking in how Crowley looked, giving a big and deep breath, shakily and hesitantly slowly lowering the whip, rubbing the bridge of her nose gently.

She looked at him for a long time, with a thin frown, scanning his injuries as Crowley was silent, before she snapped her fingers, healing his injuries, suddenly the beating pain fading away within seconds.

“...I’m concerned about Gabriel.” She said, very quietly, much more gently than she spoke prior, kneeling down next to him. There was something human about her right now. Like she was trying to have a heart-to-heart with him right now, just on the _edge_ of genuine emotion. “He’s been acting differently. Strange.” She explained to him softly, keeping her voice low. Crowley didn’t look at her, but quietly listened. “I… have suspicions that some demons may be harming him. And you have a key role in that. You’re the main weapons dealer, aren’t you?” 

Crowley after a long pause, nodded.

“...Do you know possibly who it is?”

Crowley fell silent for a long moment, hesitating, as his eyes warily landed on the whip in her hand as he looked at her over. Words formed at the base of his throat, but ...something prevented him from speaking.

He turned away, slightly, shaking his head.

“...No.” He said quietly, even though it physically pained him to speak, and Michael’s eyes widened, before she harshly grabbed his shoulder, tightening her grip. Crowley winced as he felt the pressure, her nails digging into his skin, leaving raw, red marks.

“I can tell when you’re _lying_ here _,_ you foul snake.” She said in a low rumbling growl, grabbing a fistful of his hair and _yanking_ him up. Crowley felt the air kick out of him. He couldn’t meet Michael’s eyes, instead focusing his stare on the ever expansive white void behind her. “Why are you protecting them? You have nothing to gain here. Unless they’re paying you? Unless you used the sick devices yourself? ...Unless they’re someone _close_ to you? _Tell me_ -”

“ _Fuck you_.” He mumbled, with all his strength.

Michael wasn’t amused, her lips pressed into a thin straight line as she took a breath.

When that familiar bitter archangelic smile crossed her expression, something that sent off alarm bells in his head. Her eyes darkened, her jaw clenched tightly before she let Crowley go.

He stumbled backwards, visibly trying to gain some distance between him and the explosive archangel, even though he knew it was no use.

“If that’s how we want to play…” Michael said, flatly, narrowing her eyes at Crowley before snapping her fingers cleanly.

_A bathtub._

Crowley couldn’t help but stare at his oncoming fate, eyes wide, before he took a staggering step back. 

“...Holy water.” He couldn’t help but whisper distantly in complete fearful shock.

“Diluted holy water.” Michael corrected, with that same old _damn_ small calm smile. She put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Just a drop.”

The most _sadistic_ thing about this, was that the bathtub… had a _lid._

A bloody metal _lid._

Just then, Crowley made a dashing run for it, before being _wrenched_ back by Michael, holding his throat tightly with a stare that could _kill._

“Now, I’d suggest that you confess. For your sake, of course.” She dragged him jaggedly towards the tub, as he heaved and struggled to breathe in between his sharp gasps for breath, like a fish out of water, tears stinging his eyes, as he violently kicked about, trying anything, _anything_ to loosen her hold on him, but nothing worked.

She acted as if she barely noticed.

“ _Please.”_ He begged, choked, clawing at her grip on his neck. “You- You can’t _do_ this _-_ I didn’t _-_ I didn’t even have a _trial-”_

Michael just shook her head, holding his head over the bathtub. Crowley froze, his breaths shallow, suppressing the urge to move.

“All is null and void in the act of war.” She said, monotone, as if she’d been repeating a script, before leaning in.

“One last chance.” She said, quietly, searching his eyes, her own distraught desperation slipping slightly into her face.

“Who?”

Crowley wanted to say it. He wanted _so badly_ to say it, but the words caught on the end of his tongue. And all he could muster was a small suffocated sound, his thin tears falling down into the water below. He felt like he was hanging over a bridge, with Michael the only person securing him from a never ending drop.

At his long silence, Michael seemed disappointed, her lips curling into an unnoticeable frown. 

“...Hold your breath.” She said in a low voice.

Before letting go.

_And snapping the bathtub lid shut._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops my hand slipped welp poor crowley I guess


	3. Justification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Depressive and suicidal thoughts. Minor self-harm. Major anxiety and PTSD elements

Michael wasn’t sure what to do.

She was never quite sure what to do, at all. But, she was absolutely _astounding_ at _pretending_ that she knew what to do.

Archangels all abide by one rule. Act confident, and things will go your way.

She felt very _small_ right now, as if she were the tiniest ant, carrying the biggest leaf. She did her best to act like she didn’t feel the feeling of _lostness._ The complete feeling she had no idea what the _hell_ she was doing.

The garbled violent screams echoed behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around. 

'Interrogation’ was a part of her job, though she didn’t try to indulge in it often. She often just instructed some other angel to do this _torture_ job for her, since torturing wasn’t at all considered ‘holy work’, and she simply wanted to have no part in it. Getting her hands dirty was the last thing she wanted to do, she just preferred to just give out orders and strategize.

But, no angel dared to interrogate this…. _not-demon_.

This dangerous creature _._

No angel, other than her. 

She walked calmly back through the void’s gateway, shutting it quickly with a wave of her hand, looking around at the various angels surrounding her, watching her silently to make sure she was okay. The room was quiet, heavy, pressuring tension spread throughout the air.

A collective exhale could be heard around the room as she walked out unharmed, the angels letting out a breath they didn’t know they were holding. The worried glint in their eyes said a lot.

It was dangerous, Michael knew that.

But, it had to be done.

“Back to your stations, everyone.” She instructed, her voice hard, her lips pressed together tightly. And, so they did, each angel marching away as told, back to their respective places to whatever she told them to take care of prior. 

She leaned back into her seat, giving a quiet sight. Torture devices. _Freaking torture devices._ Was her brother getting tortured, right under her _nose_? She felt a little sick, a feeling of murky guilt surfacing, stirring wildly in her chest. And there she was, just doing paperwork as usual.

Not even bothering to ask what was wrong, that is, until today.

She’d done absolutely _nothing_. Nada. Because, she had assumed that whatever was happening to Gabriel, he could handle it by himself, as he always had. But, after seeing him break down in front of her, she knew for a _fact_ she just couldn’t afford to sit by and watch his mental state deteriorate slowly anymore.

She thought back to Crowley, his complete hesitance, his fidgety anxious movements and twitches, and felt the heat of utter _hatred_ come to light. She knew without a doubt.

He _knew._

He _knew_ this was happening, this- _torture._

Demon or not... he let this happen.

He didn’t even try to stop them.

Out of pure fury and painful exasperation, her fist instantly _slammed_ into her desk, causing a booming _CRACK,_ as the wood fractured and splintered out. Her papers went _flying_ everywhere, several objects _clattering_ to the ground, the sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the halls.

The distant chattering outside her office fell sharply to a deafening silence.

The room was filled with a mind-numbing hum.

She gave a shaky sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose, taking a soft deep breath, visibly trying to relax her very stiff and tense shoulders. Outbursts weren’t her style, she did her best to stay level-headed and rational, but bottling up weighty emotions took a definite toll on her. So much so, that it occasionally led to her _exploding_ , lashing out in private.

After a long dense pause, she snapped her fingers, the desk returning to its perfect original state, paperwork and all.

She rested her thumb gently on her chin, trying to think of a way of getting more information. Maybe, she could maybe just… probe his memories? It seemed harsh, just looking into someone’s memories without consent. Even for the chief of the angelic army, but you know what _also_ seemed harsh? Playing a part in torturing an _archangel_ , without expecting _consequences_ -

A light knock snapped her out of her thoughts, as an angel from her division stepped in slowly, looking at her.

“Ma’am, Archangel Gabriel returned. You told me to inform you when he does.” They said, sounding formal and polite. She always silently admired how dedicated and obedient angels from her division were.

Michael blinked, looking at the time. Two _hours_ had passed already, without her notice. For her, it felt like merely thirty minutes. She cleared her throat, and stood hastily up while organizing her _mostly_ unfinished paperwork into neat stacks.

“Yes, yes, thank you. That’ll be all.” She quickly said as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, and they left the room without second thought. 

_She needed to talk to him._

* * *

Everything _hurt._

So much.

He took a step from the elevator, warily hearing the conversation around him suddenly _drop_.

A dull, _uncomfortable_ silence filled the hallway, and he could feel himself try to shrink in place. He could feel their stares _bore_ into him, like drills, trying to dig under his skin, a sinking feeling of anxiety and dread weighing on him. He managed a fragile smile, but even he knew he looked so, so _fake_.

It took an extreme amount of effort for him to just _try_ to appear unbothered and ‘normal,’ though normal was an _extremely_ foreign concept to him right now.

Just to think, a few weeks ago, he was confident.

Arrogant.

Self-indulgent.

And so, so, so _fucking_ stupid.

_God._

Maybe if he wasn’t such an _asshole,_ he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this _mess_ in the first place.

He walked at a brisk pace through the hallways, setting his eyes intensely downward, the once familiar hallways feeling like a bewildering labyrinth to him. Though, every hallway he went, he could feel their questioning stares, their eyes wide, the silent worry dripping off of them.

He thickly swallowed.

Did… did they notice?

He self-consciously tugged the ends of his sleeves, trying to cover his wrists with the fabric.

If they noticed, someone would’ve asked him by now, right?

... _Right_?

...Maybe someone already noticed. _But… they didn’t bother to ask_.

Because, why would someone care about someone like _him?_

...No, nonono, what he _needed_ to be thinking about right now was getting to his office, closing the door, and collapsing into his chair. He found himself itching for sleep every second he was awake. He just wanted to simply just let the world pass by without him for a few hours, to let time pass, and let himself _rest._ He just wanted to fade out of existence for a little.

What was wrong with that?

He slowly reached his office, and he gave a shaking, exhausted sigh, rubbing his face with his palms as he snapped on the illusion on his windows. He felt… _safer_ here. Even though he knew he _wasn’t._

He took a deep breath, stepping towards his desk- 

_Before he saw someone in his chair_.

His entire body _tensed_ , still in place as his eyes were wide with sheer adrenaline-filled _panic._

He wobbled, shaking slightly, before staggering weakly backwards, not taking ripping eyes off of the ground.

Oh _godgodgod pleasepleaseplease-_

_I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msORRY-_

“...Gabriel?” A soft gentle voice chimed in, sounding concerned.

He paused, processing the voice, before slowly tearing his eyes away from the ground, anxiously looking up at her.

Her sky blue eyes were locked on him, her brows furrowed, lips curling into a slight frown. Her mouth opened for a moment, as if she were trying to find something to say, but she slowly closed it, her eyes searching his own.

Sharp rapid breaths filled the room, the sound of his own bursting inhales echoing through his own office. He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until he heard himself.

He lightly lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, subtly trying to stop himself.

“...Michael-” He whispered breathlessly through his fingers, trying to give a forced smile, and failing quite miserably.

He gave up smiling after a few seconds, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage violently. He could hear it in his ears, the blood beating in his head. He was trying his damned _best,_ to act _normal._ To act like he usually did. But, it was so so _hard._

She was silent, looking visibly unsure of what to do, her eyes searching the room, before landing back on him.

His breaths slowed slightly, as he forced himself to relax. He couldn’t stop his mind from continuously roaming on ‘Aziraphale’, as much as he tried to calm down. ...Aziraphale didn’t react too happily when Gabriel admitted to having a mental breakdown in front of Michael. Thankfully, he didn’t question him about anything else he said.

The fabric already stung against his raw back, a frequent reminder of what was yet to come.

“Gabriel, please sit down.”

He found himself obediently following her, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk without a second thought. It even took a few seconds for him to register that she even spoke at all.

Though his breaths slowed to a slightly normal pace, the anxiety sat, weighing down his stomach. His fingers felt numb, prickly, as if needles stuck into them.

He wanted to throw up. 

Michael leaned forward, although rather hesitantly. He recognised that knowing look on her face, the gears churning in her head, her eyes scanning his expression. She ... _knew_ something, didn’t she? Panic swelled in him, his grip on the chair’s armrests tight, clawing at the leather. No, no, no she _can’t,_ she _can’t-_

“What scared you, brother?” She asked in a low voice, quietly, but rather distressed. ...He was worrying her, wasn’t he? He was making her feel so fucking _uncomfortable_ . He always did, didn’t he? She’d feel so much _better-_ so much _happier_ if he wasn’t _here_.

If he didn’t exist.

His throat was dry as he gave a scoff.

“It’s- It’s nothing, really.” He lied in a small voice. “I- don’t even know why that happened.” He chuckled, though it sounded forced. Michael gave a sorrowful frown, before her uncomfortably watchful eyes ripped away from him, looking at her hands. 

She cleared her throat, before giving a small smile towards him. “...So… how was your day?”

“Good.” He said, immediately.

“That’s nice.” She said, nodding, before slowly looking up at him. She held her mouth open, hesitating for a moment as the smile slowly faded from her face.

“...I… tried looking for you on earth.” She admitted after a long moment of silence. Gabriel’s eyes widened slightly, before blinking. “Brother… I couldn’t find you anywhere. I couldn’t- I couldn’t _feel_ you.” She paused, her brows knitted in concern, her voice softening further.

“Where were you, Gabriel?”

“I…” He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t _majorly_ screw things up, like he did the _last_ conversation. He was just relieved and eternally grateful that she wasn’t questioning him about saying _‘they.’_ He silently hoped that she’d just _drop_ the topic entirely, and thankfully, she had. Well, for the time being.

He swallowed.

“I… was on earth. I don’t know what to tell you.” He lied. Again. Directly in front of his worried sister’s face. Like a _complete_ waste of _space._ He knew she didn’t buy it, she was smarter than _that_ . Smarter than he’d ever be. But, she- for _some_ reason, didn’t want to question him on it.

She went silent again, looking into his eyes, before giving a light sigh. She was disappointed in him.

Like she ought to be.

“Is there… anything you like to tell me?” She asked, her voice warm. He could see the desperation in her eyes, like she so _badly_ wanted to know, but was trying her best to respect his boundaries. She was trying so _hard,_ she cared so _much._

It hurt.

“You can tell me anything, you understand? _Anything._ Say the word, and I won’t tell a soul.” 

Her never-ending and unconditional love for him made him not want to tell her _more._

He didn’t want her to suffer.

He didn’t want her brutally burned alive by Aziraphale, tortured for however many decades.

He’d much rather keep it quiet, if it meant Michael was _safe._

He lightly shook his head.

“...No.” He said in a whisper. Michael’s lips pressed together, looking slightly disheartened, if not, equally worried.

She leaned a little more in, looking a mix between concerned and frustrated. 

“Please, Gabriel. You walked in here and had a _panic attack_ the moment you saw me _,_ and you expect me to believe you’re okay? You looked _terrified,_ brother. Who did you think I was? No one can get you here. You’re safe here.” She said, trying to reassure him.

He gave a single, light, genuinely happy but tired chuckle, his voice low. He was grateful she didn’t know what _he_ could do. Of what he was capable of. He was glad that she didn’t have to live in _constant_ fear like him.

She continued, putting her hand on the back of his, and he suppressed a flinch.

“Do you need me to get some powers to guard your office? I’m willing to do that, for you. Will you feel safer?” She asked, sounding upset.

He was upsetting her.

_Again._

Like he always _fucking_ does.

Brother of the _year_ award.

“No- No, you don’t need to do that.” He said quickly. Aziraphale would know. He wouldn’t be happy. “Like I said, I’m _fine._ You don’t need to _press_ into me like this.”

“Seriously. _Gabriel._ ” She said loudly, her voice rising a little, though no amount of her concern in her tone dropping.

He felt himself _jerk_ away from her, hearing the anger in her voice, before she suddenly stopped, looking at Gabriel, before continuing in a much softer tone.

“Do you think you matter so _little_ to me? I’m willing to do anything for you, you are the closest brother I have, and I’m not willing to let you slowly… _deteriorate_ like this-”

“ _Deteriorate?”_ He said, shouting a little as he suddenly stood up.

He saw her shoulders stiffen as her eyes widened.

“I’m better than I ever than I fucking _ever_ was! I was a complete _asshole_ Michael! I know I wasn’t to _you_ , but trust me, I was the actual _worst._ I-” He hesitated. “I don’t want _you_ stuck in _my_ business, sister. You shouldn’t be soo _concerned_ about me, I can handle this _myself-”_

“You started _crying_ when I asked you if you were _OKAY_!” She snapped, suddenly yelling out in a rumbling booming voice.

Gabriel stopped, completely and utterly still. The only way to describe how he felt… was _numb._ Some expression must’ve appeared on his face, because as soon as she made eye contact with him, the visible regret poured into her.

“...I-” She sounded so _unsure._ It... scared him.

“...I just want to help you. You… You _need_ it. You know you do. So… why aren’t you letting me?-”

“You shouldn’t have to help me.” He whispered in a brittle murmur.

It was the truth.

She shouldn’t have to put off her _valuable_ time, just to _help him._ He was making her life absolutely _miserable,_ by just merely _existing._ It showed in her face. Her constantly saddened worried expression. He was _hurting_ her, even if he didn’t mean to. 

“You shouldn’t have to- to treat me I’m _glass._ Like I’m just gonna- gonna break apart at any moment-”

“No, no, you’re not fragile. You’re strong. One of the strongest people I know. You’re strong that you’ve held on for this long.” She said, with a confidence he didn’t have in himself.

He let out a low, exhausted laugh, before falling silent, the smile quickly fading from his face.

“...I don’t know how long I can.” He whispered, honestly.

He rubbed his wrist instinctively, a nervous fidget he picked up a while ago, the familiar painful burning sting that he felt as he touched his raw unhealed skin made him feel a strange sense of... _comfort_.It was nearly... addictive, a feeling unable to be described properly in words without doing it justice.

He felt like he… _deserved_ it, and the slight stinging of pain made him feel at ease. It relieved the feeling that he’d done something _wrong_. He turned to Michael, giving the faintest smile, thinking she was worried since he’d zoned out for a prolonged period of time.

Though, Michael wasn’t looking at him right now. 

_She was staring at his wrist with wide eyes._

An intense, heartbreakingly surprised stare, unrelentingly powerful, directed at his wrist, making him feel at the edge of _panic._

He looked down suddenly, the feeling of _utter horror_ sinking in as he looked at his semi-visible wound. His stomach fell.

A red band-like second degree burn surrounded his wrist, raw and bumpy, with bits of his skin peeling off. Yellowish, orangish red colors splotched his wrists, like watercolors staining his skin.

She _knows._

_Sheknowssheknowssheknowssheknows._

  
  
All went quiet.

Sickeningly quiet.

Gabriel was frozen, the color drained from his face, the world like a vacuum to him right now. He stared into the window behind her, the world around him going _silent,_ his surroundings blurred as the void-like numb feeling swallowed him _whole_ . It felt like he _sunk._

Like he _dropped_ through the floor.

All he could focus on was the constant _ringing_ in his ears slowly getting _louder_ and _louder._

He was so _fucking_ stupid.

No wonder this was happening to him. If he wasn’t more _careful,_ he wouldn’t have put his _fucking sister_ in danger by being a complete _dumbass_ and _STAYING FUCKING QUIET LIKE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO._ But _nooo,_ he had to _cry_ like a little baby _bitch_ boy in front of his sister, and risk _her_ getting _hurt too._

Is that what he wanted?

Getting the _one_ person who _actually_ cared about him _DEAD?_ Because that’s what happens to people who _care_ about Gabriel, the _KING OF THE WORLD._ They either _leave_ him, or _die_ because of his complete and utter _idiocy_ . As they _should_. After all.

_WHO SHOULD CARE ABOUT SOMEONE WHO ONLY CARES ABOUT HIMSELF?_

“Gabriel.” Michael said softly, because she wanted to _talk_ to him, instead of him just _sitting_ there silently, not _speaking,_ not _explaining_.

She wanted _answers_ that he couldn’t provide, which would make her _hate_ him.

As if she already _didn’t._

He didn’t realize how badly he was shaking until he looked down at his hands, and he balled his fists, trying to calm himself. It didn’t work. He inhaled sharply, not realizing he was holding his breath.

She hated him. She _HATED_ him because he _kept_ this from her. His _sister._ He _knew_ she wanted to slap him. To _punch_ him. And he’d _let_ her, because he _deserved it_.

_HE DESERVED TO BE HURT._

_“I’m sorry-”_ He said, his voice wavering as it cracked.

She didn’t respond.

Because, why would she? Huh? He didn’t _deserve_ forgiveness. Those were for people who had the capacity to _change._ No, no, he deserved to feel _pain._ He _needed_ to be taught a _lesson_ . He needed to _learn_ that _lying_ to his _fucking_ sister couldn’t be _tolerated._

The ringing felt deafening in his ears.

He felt so… disconnected. Like he was watching himself through a screen. Like he wasn’t really _there._ He saw her stand up, and he quietly lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut, preparing himself for a blow. He needed to get it over with.

_He needed to get it over with._

She slowly, and quietly walked around his desk, the world moving in slow motion.

_Hit me._

Do it.

_DO IT._

She stood in front of him.

Still, for a long moment.

Hesitating.

_Calculating_.

She raised her hands.

His shoulders tensed as he braced for impact.

And _._

...

_She hugged him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters gonna be up around Dec. 15, on Tuesday!!


	4. Two Sides

She couldn’t get the image of his wide _haunted_ eyes out of her head as her eyes trailed from his burnt wrist to his face.

She didn’t care about the burns on his wrist anymore. The injuries didn’t even _compare_ to the look of pure _terror_ he gave her, as he knew she found out. She knew she saw something she wasn’t supposed to see.

He’d encountered something, something she had the pleasure of not seeing.

As her arms carefully but warmly wrapped around his neck like he was porcelain, she could feel him _trembling._

Under her.

It broke her heart as he looked silently astonished, like he didn’t expect her to hug him. As she felt him slowly relax, she quickly came into the realization that… maybe... he expected _her_ to _hit_ him.

_Her_.

She held him snuggly and tightly, like a mother bear holding her cub, afraid what would happen if she’d let go.

Maybe, he’d fall apart if she did.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into the crook of her shoulder, muffled.

Her lips were pressed tightly together in frustration, not at him- no- no- _never_ at him, but at whatever _monstrous_ demon did this to him. Even for hell’s standards, she knew, this was _way_ too far.

If she found out who it was, she’d give them a piece of her _mind._

“Shh.” She shushed gently, slightly awkwardly patting his hair, trying her best to soothe him. Admittedly, comforting someone was never one of her strong suits.

She never considered it much of a problem, until… this.

_“I’m sorry.”_ He repeated, his voice cracking, fragile and thin.

It sounded so quiet, so… tired.

The words came from under his breath, shaky and unstable. He was trying to apologize for something she didn’t understand.

The heaping amounts of regret overflowed in his voice.

...What exactly did he see?

...What happened to him?

She was a strong warrior, fierce, and unafraid of anything. Yet, her heart pounded out of control like she was petrified.

“You don’t need to be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay?”

He was quiet.

She hoped his silence meant a yes. 

As his violent shaking eased away slowly, his eyes squeezed shut against the shockwaves that riddled his body. The two remained still, only the quiet hum of heaven filling the room.

She affectionately squeezed him, as gentle as a cloud floating on a breeze, not ready to let him go just yet.

She was sure he wasn’t ready to let go either, not used to being exposed to this much of his vulnerability at once. She knew he felt exposed. L

ike she’d uncovered some dark secret of his, and she wanted to make it all okay.

She wanted him to be okay, for just one day.

Just _one_.

“...You can let go.” She heard a whisper from him, and very carefully, not to disturb him, she drew her arms back to her sides.

His face had that... distant look again, his vibrant amethyst eyes glazed over. She could tell, he wasn’t fully there right now, his eyes fogged and blurry. If eyes were a window to one’s soul, his were a one-way mirror.

She couldn’t look in.

Only he could look out.

Quietly, she rested a hand on his shoulder, and to her silent surprise, he didn’t flinch from her touch, only instead looking at her and blinking in confusion.

She wracked her brain, thinking of anything, _anything,_ just for an excuse so that she could spend a little more time with him.

She knew that Gabriel expected her to leave, just after she offered some comfort, but she wasn’t willing to leave as soon as things went wrong. 

“Do you want me to do your wings?” She offered, somewhat blurting it out, tilting her head at him. His eyes widened, the words clearly unexpected. “It’s been a while since I’ve preened you, brother. I think it’s been a few centuries. Your wings must look _horrible_.”

Preening was… _complicated_ between the two.

They’ve reached that level of angelic intimacy that they _could_ preen each other without any issue or fear, but they rarely ever did it. The two often gave excuses, saying that they had too much paperwork to preen or be preened, but that’s all they were.

_Excuses._

They didn’t preen much because it was frankly rather embarrassing. It felt like admitting you weren’t perfect, that you _needed_ someone to assist you, to _care_ about you, to help fix you up.

The ‘archangel attitude’ carried a feeling of superiority, a feeling of ‘I-am-fucking-holier-than-thou’, as well as a healthy dose of _genuine_ insecurity _._

Gabriel’s mouth hung open, before he slowly hesitantly closed it. His eyes searched the wall behind her for answers it didn’t have. His hand reached up, caressing the back of his shoulder as Michael watched the gears turn in his head, before he gave a small nod, with a little grin accompanying it.

She _treasured_ that grin. 

“...Yeah.” He said, rubbing his temple, before his smile quickly faded and straightened into a concerned frown.

His head suddenly _snapped_ to Michael, a little antsy and on edge, as if something just occurred to him.

“Should I- take my shirt off?” He asked, hastily, sounding strangely pleading, the panic edging into his voice. Michael blinked, slow and deliberate. “It’s nothing- I mean I _can-_ I’m just- not comfortable with my shirt off-”

“You don’t have to.” She interrupted quickly, not willing to let him spiral down again. Gabriel stopped. “If you’re not comfortable, I’m not gonna force you.”

That seemed to reassure him, his shoulders relaxing a little as he let out a quiet breath, giving her a look of appreciation. She gave a little smile in return.

“Come on.” She said quietly, leading him up, and gesturing for him to lay on his stomach on the couch.

He seemed hesitant, his eyes flickering from her to the couch, before he slowly walked forward nervously, resting his head on his arms.

“I’m a little uh- jumpy. It’s been a while.” He said, in a low voice, drumming his fingers against the leather of the couch. His eyes were hyper focused on the wrinkles of the armrest in front of him. “Sorry if I do anything.”

“You apologize too much.” Michael remarked, in a half-joking tone.

She wasn’t used to joking, so the humor felt foreign on her tongue, uncomfortable and a little forced.

She cleared her throat after a brief awkward pause, slowly walking next to him and resting a light hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t harm you.” She said, reassurance warming her voice as Gabriel stirred a little on the couch, shifting to a more comfortable position. 

She stretched her fingers, her knuckles popping, before tilting her head at him.

“Ready?” She asked calmly, her voice steady. She walked to his side slowly, taking a mental note as she watched Gabriel stiffen a bit at the movement.

He could barely see her out of the corner of his eye, and she knew that the fact that he was in a quite vulnerable position right now made him feel _very_ uncomfortable.

“...Yeah.” He said, sounding rather unsure and very _not_ ready.

Then, his wings sprung out from his back, as if coiled.

Letting them out after such a long time must’ve felt like a breath of fresh air. He gave a low, satisfying pleased groan of content as he stretched them slowly, taking his time.

Beautiful large golden wings spanned a third of the length of the office, the light from the windows shining onto the shimmering feathers, giving a metallic sheen.

But, what Michael noticed through the shine was how _disheveled_ it looked.

A messy, tangled array of feathers caught her eye, small clumps of feathers visible from a distance.

She wondered how itchy it must’ve been for him.

How painful it must be.

As his wings steadied, she rested a hand on the back of his wing, as if to silently signal that she was going to start. What surprised her the most was how he _relaxed_ a little more as she patted his feathers.

After a brief second, she took a breath, and meticulously started preening.

Her fingers quickly worked through his feathers, gently straightening it with the utmost care. Surprisingly, even though he hasn’t been preened for a long time, his feathers remained fluffy and soft, pleasant to touch. I

t was silent in the room, yes, but a different kind of silence.

Comfortable.

Trusting.

She gave a glance to her brother, and silently chuckled as she found him completely at ease.

He looked so relaxed, the only way she knew he wasn’t asleep was the way he’d open his eyes a little, look around, and shut them again slowly. He looked like he was practically _melting_ into the couch as she fixed up his feathers. 

The look of peace on his face was utterly _breathtaking_ … no fear, no tension, no anger, _nothing_. He raised an eyebrow, opening his eyes, hearing her laugh, a little confused.

“It’s nothing.” She dismissed, in a low voice. 

“...Mm.” He hummed, very shockingly _calm_. He hasn’t been this calm in weeks. “I should preen you later.” He said slowly, his words sounding sleepy and muffled, spoken through his sleeves.

“I’m better at it.” She retorted, quietly. “And, I doubt you could get through all my wings.” 

This earned a laugh from Gabriel, genuine and light. 

Though, she could tell there was a certain _weight_ he felt, a clear feeling of heavy _dread._

It felt like he believed this was the calm before the storm, and was savoring every moment, before he’d inevitably get burned again, tortured, kicked around like a football, _whatever._

Despite that, she considered it a win.

She hadn’t heard him laugh in a while, and just hearing it was a refreshing change.

“True.” He muttered with a lazy, impish smirk. “You have a lot of wings.” 

She did.

She had six wings in total, big, bright and warm as did all seraphim. She wasn’t a seraph anymore, she knew that _(it’s been thousands of years since she was a seraph)_ , but she still retained the traits of one.

She liked her wings, she found them rather aesthetically appealing. The big, intimidating feathers glowing with holy light were a blessing, and she found it much easier to menace demons with them.

But, because of the amount of wings she had, it made it rather difficult to be preened. 

“At least I don’t have one pair, like you do. Like some third sphere angel.” She said calmly, with a note of cheeky sarcasm in her voice. Her fingers paused feeling a bent feather, slowly turning to look at the back of his head. “I’m gonna pull one out. It’s bent.”

“M’kay.” He murmured quietly, sounding drowsy. “And _so_ ? Sue me, _princess_ . I get if you have four wings. That’s acceptable. But, anything more seems _excessive.”_ Michael didn’t get what ‘sue’ was, but she didn’t ask.

“Mum wouldn’t like your tone.” She said with a small, nearly unnoticeable grin. She found herself smiling, even though she didn’t prompt herself to. “She thinks I’m beautiful- ...Well… she thinks all angels are.” She mused, lightly. “Including me.”

Gabriel paused at that, suddenly silent. Had she said something wrong? Or, maybe he’d finally fallen asleep. She wished she was talking to him face-to-face, so she could at least _try_ and decipher what he was feeling.

After a long second, he gave a quiet chuckle, though it sounded a little strained. Michael gave a silent sigh of relief, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Pulling out the mom card is _cheating_. Not allowed.” He said quietly, almost nodding off. “But, she really likes wings, doesn’t she?” He asked, lightly.

She chuckled. “And eyes.”

“She should’ve given birds more eyes then. And… bees? Bees right? Yeah, fuck, I forgot the name for a second.”

The two continued to banter, the tension non-existent. Gabriel looked like a puddle on the couch, dripping into the seams of the leather as Michael did her best to fix him up.

They talked steadily, keeping a stream of words coming as she occasionally had to pluck out a feather, bringing his wings back to their former glory.

They looked back upon their time in Italy, though Gabriel's thoughts on it were much more bittersweet than her’s. She couldn’t place why. She thought that he loved that place, especially the clothing.

Though, eventually… the topic slowly turned to the traitors.

She knew that he seemed rather antsy about the whole ordeal, nervous and jumpy, and knew he’d blow a gasket if he ever found out that she was holding one of the traitors captive.

_Especially_ the not-demon.

Demons being immune to holy water was frankly a terrifying thought for her.

He was silent as she started talking about them. 

“...I think it’s best… that we leave them alone.” He still sounded relaxed and drowsy as he did, but it sounded much more... _grim._

Like he was heeding a warning. His words sounded lazy, but monotone, as if he were repeating a script.

Michael blinked.

“We… don’t want anything to happen.”

“Gabe, we can’t just-”

“Please.” He sounded tired.

And so, she went quiet, slowly changing the topic to something else. Something about his voice struck a chord in her, the silent, but stern desperation.

Did he know Crowley made the devices…?

She felt bitter anger stir in her stomach, sitting there like a weighted rock. Maybe, he _told_ him to say that. To say to leave them alone, to protect himself.

Someone clearly did. 

As she finished up, he sat up, and gave a single flap to realign the feathers into place. The flap gave a hard _thud,_ the deep _woosh_ making a few papers fly away.

With a snap of her fingers, the papers were arranged in neat stacks, and she looked at his wings over. She raised an eyebrow with a small, nearly unnoticeable smile.

“Better?”

He gave a nod. 

She could see the effect of preening slowly fade away, his eyes wide as he looked around a little, the anxiety starting to rise in him as his leg bounced up and down, the slight concern visible on his face.

He tried a smile, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, thanks.” 

“We should preen weekly. Is… that okay?” She asked, a bit hesitant. “Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’d like for us to… spend more time together.” She said, sitting beside him.

He folded his wings tightly behind his back, and it faded back to the astral plane, disappearing out of view. His expression was unreadable, a constant war being fought behind his eyes.

His face faded from all expression as he thought to himself, his lips curling slightly into a frown, before he slowly looked at Michael.

He gave a little genuine smile.

“I- More than okay. Yeah, I- ...haven’t been myself lately.” He admitted, giving a quiet sad laugh. “I’d really like it. If it doesn’t bother you, or anything.”

“I’d be more than happy to, brother.” She said, in a low voice.

A light knock interrupted their thoughts, and on instinct, Michael stood up on instinct, her shoulders broadening. It was never good to face a potential threat sitting.

Though, she heard a voice on the other side, a familiar one, one of her angels.

“Archangel Michael? The captive need attending. It went silent.” They explained through the door.

Michael’s eyes widened, as Gabriel’s did too.

“Captive?” Gabriel’s head jerked to Michael, loudly whispering in a confused yet concerned tone. “ _Michael_ -”

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself about.” She whispered hastily back, interrupting calmly. She walked over to the door, leaving Gabriel with a bewildered expression, in a familiar confident stride.

She steadily opened it, giving a polite smile.

“Did it discorperate?” She asked, staring the angel down. She was actually rather pleased when they held their gaze as her cold ice blue eyes met theirs.

“It’s unclear.”

“Did you send anyone in to check?” She asked, an eyebrow raised. They shook their head lightly.

“I’m afraid it’s too risky.” They explained. “No one was willing to do it.”

“Even though it’s not immune in the void?” She asked.

They shook their head again.

“Alright then. You’re dismissed. I’m coming in a few minutes.” She waved her hand, and they left as quickly as they came.

Michael gently shut the door. She hesitantly looked over her shoulder, looking at Gabriel. There was a dark, sunken-in expression on his face. Shadow-y and empty, as he looked up very slowly at her.

She could feel the angelic wrath emanate off of him, except it didn’t seem particularly angry or dangerous.

It seemed _suspicious_.

_Mistrusting_. 

“...So…” He asked, slowly. She’d be proud of the confidence in his voice, if he wasn’t directing the frustration at her. “You’re _kidnapping_ people now?” He asked flatly, with a bit of an edge.

Michael stiffened, her shoulders rising as she subconsciously took a step back, as if _appalled_ from the idea. She, after all, considered herself a _protector._

_Not a bad person._

“ _No_ !” She yelled defensively.

“I’m... _interrogating_. It’s necessary, Gabriel, it’s a part of my _job._ It’s a _demon_ , it doesn’t mean much, probably worse things happened to it in hell. I just... need to know a few things, and once it tells me, we’ll just let it go later. No harm done-”

“No harm done?” He repeated, quietly, standing up. _“No harm done?”_ He repeated again, sharp and stiff.

Michael could feel her instincts kick in, and she did her best to suppress the restlessness in her arms, her hands curled into tight fists. Her nails dug into her palm.

“Michael- I don’t care what you call torture- _interrogation_ is just another name for it, and you of all people know that. You have to let them go, this isn’t _right._ Why do you even have someone anyways? The war was _averted_.”

Michael pressed her lips together.

“It’s... important.” She said vaguely, but her voice didn’t dare drop in confidence. “It’s important to me.”

Gabriel stared, his brows furrowed as the tension lingered in the air. His hard violet eyes darkened as he said nothing.

Silence hurt the most.

The two stood still for what seemed like eternity, and before another word, she slowly walked to the exit, stopping at the doorway, looking at him over her shoulder.

“...What could be that important?” He said in a low voice, a concoction of conflicting feelings flooding his features.

“..You’ll understand. Soon enough.” She said quietly, barely under her breath, before she calmly walked away, her footsteps echoing.

Leaving the silhouette of a broken figure that didn’t know what to think, behind.

* * *

Boiling water.

That’s what it felt like.

Searing hot pain shot through his skin, the heat of it harsher and more violent than anything he’s experienced in hell.

His eyes squeezed shut, the darkness surrounding him, red hot flashes of heat blinding him more than anything ever did. It made him reel, his entire body set on fire, throbbing _stabbing_ fire.

His jaw unhinged jaggedly in an inhuman way, as he couldn’t help but violently _scream._

Everything felt _painful._

The water scalded his mouth as drops of it fell in, and he coughed in wheezing breaths, not able to tell if he was crying from the way the water mixed in with his salty tears.

He thrashed, trying to steady himself, the searing liquid splashing everywhere, the water raised to such a high level that if he tried to relax, the holy water would coat his face.

It was sadistically _designed_ for him to hold himself up with his arms, his palms flat on the floor of the tub as it _burned_ for him to touch.

He wasn’t sure how long he was there, but it felt like an eternity, the constant _agonizing_ pain stretching his ability to tell time properly.

He could’ve been there for seconds, or for _years_.

He wouldn’t know.

The only thing he knew is that he couldn’t stop _screaming,_ even though it tore at his vocal cords, he _couldn’t stop screaming._

He couldn’t even _think,_ the pain cripplingly _mind numbing_.

He envied how human’s nerves died as they were severely burned, unable to feel the burn after a long moment of _torment_. How their bodies would block out the pain, erase the trauma.

That didn’t happen for demons.

As his desperate, blood curdling screams slowly died down to mere whispers, no longer having the energy, he drifted afloat the boiling water, like a resigned, weary log on a rivetingly rocky stream, every part of him raw and red. 

He could hear a low _woosh_ outside the tub, the gateway opening, familiar heels _clacking_ against the glistening white empty floor. 

The lid opened, creaking loudly and rustily as Michael peered down at him coldly and apathetically.

Her ice blue eyes scanning over his injuries with the curiosity and intensity of a cat, before she grabbed him by the wrist, disregarding his burns as she dragged him across the floor.

_Sociopath._

A weak, hoarse scream escaped his lips, everything stinging to the touch as she pushed him into a white, shiny, spotless chair.

His clothes were soggy with the water, burning into his skin. He bent over onto the sleek white table in front of him, resting his head against the cool table as if he didn’t have a spine, slumping over and trying to pathetically rest.

She scanned him over slowly, sitting calmly on the chair on the other side, her lips pressed into a thin unreadable line, before she snapped her fingers.

It hit him all at once, _overwhelming_.

The injuries healed in less than a second, and the world spun on its axis. He held onto the sharp edges of the table, trying to steady himself as he took a few deep breaths, looking visibly relieved.

He looked down at his clothes, slightly surprised to find it dry.

Michael raised an eyebrow, giving a small polite smile. He barely shook off a shudder. It seemed so unnatural, like it’d been poorly sewn onto her face, barely giving the slightest semblance to a real smile.

“...Are you ready to talk now?” She asked after a pause, staring, tilting her head at him. He couldn’t look at her.

His mouth hung open, trying to think of something to say, but the words kept dying in his throat.

It was hard for him to think, the blood pounding in his ears, suppressing the urge to _RUNRUNRUN_ .

His eyes flickered to Michael hesitantly, keeping his expression tight, expressionless and straight, though the rush of _terrified_ adrenaline made him fidget.

His leg bounced in place, as his fingers couldn’t keep still, his golden snake eyes quietly but frantically searching the table for words to say.

Michael’s smile slowly faded in the silence, her bright blue eyes darkening as they didn’t stray away from the snake across her.

She suddenly _yanked_ his wrist, any traces of that dangerously empty smile completely _gone_ from her face.

The air in him was _kicked_ out of him.

“...I guess you need to learn another _lesson_.” She said, in a low voice.

“NONONO _WAIT-_ ” He yelled shakily, desperately struggling to get her fingers off him, flailing as she harshly started dragging him towards the tub.

“ _SSTOP_ I’LL TALK- I’LL _TALK-_ ” He couldn’t help but hiss, a nervous habit of his, his breaths bursting in and out in quiet short gasps.

She paused, slowly looking down at him, before pushing him into the chair. 

“...Then, talk, _demon_.” She said, bitterly and coldly. The word sounded like a curse.

Crowley adjusted himself in his seat, steadying himself.

“What’s happening to Gabriel.” She said, calmly, though her intense gaze didn’t dare waver from Crowley.

Crowley thickly swallowed, feeling himself subconsciously try and shrink in his seat, away from her prying stare. 

“...’S being tortured. Weekly.” He said, quietly after letting the tense silence simmer for a suffocatingly long moment.

He braced himself a little, his shoulders stiffening, but surprisingly, it seemed like she already knew this, as she strangely seemed a bit more intrigued. It was like she already knew this and was waiting for him to go on.

He cleared his throat, adjusting himself, trying to regain some of his dignity.

“In London.” He shifted in place, very clearly uncomfortable as her eyes widened in surprise.

She contemplated this, a finger on her chin as she looked to the side in thought. 

“London?” She asked, blinking. She leaned in. “I- We couldn’t find him on earth. Is it one of the devices?”

Crowley paused, then nodded slowly. He rubbed the leather on his wrists anxiously.

“The cuffs. They make him wear cuffs. It limits that _archangel_ power. So he can’t fight back.” He said, waving his hand vaguely to Michael.

Michael looked absolutely flabbergasted, as if she couldn’t even fathom the possibility that it would even happen.

But, she glanced over his expression, and seemingly quickly dismissed the idea that he was lying. 

“No…” She muttered to herself, deep in her own thoughts, but she sounded like she didn’t believe herself.

She looked at Crowley, her face hard.

“Who did you give it to? Was it a human? Demon?” She asked hastily, searching his eyes for answers.

Crowley felt himself lean further into the chair, his mouth agape again as the words collected at the base of his throat, tightening. He avoided her gaze, as he couldn’t respond.

She gave a heavy, frustrated sigh at his lack of words.

“Nevermind. Do you at least know what they were doing to him?” She asked, a bit of her own desperation seeping into her cold tone, cracking the ice.

Crowley was slightly taken aback by this, looking up at her before nodding lightly. 

“...Just… torture. Whips. And, beating, and hitting. Threats.” He said vaguely. Her expression darkened, as the silence gathered between the two.

She crossed her legs, her arms folding, as she thought to herself, her frown deepening, before she looked up at him. 

“...You knew what they were doing to him, didn’t you?” She asked, in a low calm voice. Her expression was unreadable, a violent storm stirring behind her eyes.

Crowley’s eyes widened, his eyes slowly flickering to her.

“...I didn’t want them to-”

“And you did nothing. _Nothing_.” She paused, her voice quiet and cold.

“To think you of all people stopped Armageddon. Frankly, that’s a little troubling. You’re willing to save a whole world of humans, who _really_ just live to _die_ , but you’re not willing to help out a _single_ angel. Because what? He was a little _mean?_ Your _demon_ heart couldn’t handle it? I know you _wanted_ to help him, didn’t you? After all. You’re protecting _the torturers.”_

“I’m a _demon_ .” He snapped, with a nervous low growl, though, he looked unsure. Uncertain. _Guilty._ A heavy feeling weighed down in his stomach. He wrung his fingers, stumbling to find an explanation. “It’s what I _do-”_

“ _No_ , you didn’t _‘do’_ anything.” She interrupted sharply as she slammed her palms into the table.

Crowley flinched back, covering his face with his wrists, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s _exactly_ the problem. You did _nothing,_ even though you _wanted_ to help. And you have the _nerve_ to act like you aren’t responsible _too._ You _DESERVED_ to fall, _Crawley_ . I’m _grateful_ you did, so I don’t have to deal with the _chaos_ you’ll cause if you’d stayed in heaven-”

“’S NOT MY _FAULT-_ ” He yelled defensively, more to himself than Michael.

“I CAN’T STOP HI- _them_ , I-”

The silence soaked in, as Michael’s lips straightened. She sat back into her chair, steady and collected, a direct antithesis to Crowley, a _mess_ across from her. She seemed to intake his expression, her stare digging through him.

He… spent so long feeling _guilty_ about starting this, about what he could’ve done. But. ...He hadn’t really done much to help, has he? ...For _someone’s_ sake.

He... helped Aziraphale.

Gave him _things._

_Enabled him._

A wave of thin realization hit, the guilt dripping into him, trying his damned best to not let it show on his face.

Though, she didn’t seem to care.

Michael tilted her head calmly. “...Him?” She asked, gazing into the demon across from her.

Crowley realized his mistake. 

“So, it presents as male?” She questioned calmly, in a low voice. 

“I…” The words kept _dying._ He couldn’t stop it, choking up in his throat. “No.” He responded, his voice firm, though it didn’t matter. She silently took that as a yes. In a panic, his fists balled, and he looked up at her.

“No, no, it’s not that-”

“You _really_ are protecting him, aren’t you? After all he’s done.”

“They- He’s not usually like this-” Crowley hastily explained, trying his best to watch his words. No, no. Aziraphale wasn’t like this. It’ll pass. He was sure of it. He _needed_ it to pass. He thickly swallowed, looking at her.

“He’s usually a lot nicer. Now he’s- just…”

“A monster.” She finished, calmly.

He felt a retort bubble up, a little angry, but he couldn’t find anything to dispute her claim. Because it was true. He’d seen the heat in his eyes. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t _Aziraphale_.

“...Yeah.” He whispered quietly, not able to find anything else to say.

She was right.

Michael seemed satisfied at that answer, clasping her fists and setting them gently down on her desk. 

“...So.” Her voice was softer, lighter. She tilted her head, leaning towards him as he stared off into the distance.

“Why are you protecting him?”

He paused, scratching at his wrist as his frown tightened. “...I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “Because I… don’t want him getting in trouble.” He said quietly.

Something dark appeared in her eyes as he said that, but she quickly shook it off. 

“Do you think he deserves this protection, Crowley?” 

His mouth was agape, unsure of what to say, before he lightly shook his head. “...I-” He managed to get out.

“Do you think he deserves this loyalty? He hurt people. No matter what he was like before. And I doubt he’ll stop.” She said, her tone darkening as she leaned in further, trying to assert eye contact. “Do you think he’ll stop?”

“...No.”

“Then _why?”_

His eyes flickered to her, watching her confused frustration heat in her eyes, the fire blazing behind her pupils. He couldn’t get anything out. It took a long moment of tense silence for him to finally look up at her.

“I… can’t.”

Her face darkened. Everything that once was soft completely faded, hard, empty, and dangerous. He could feel her anger from this distance, the heat of her wrath overflowing him, and he tensed.

She sharply stood up, the chair clattering to the ground at the sudden movement, not taking her eyes off of him as her fists curled in her hand, a petrifyingly calm smile masked on her face.

“You can’t.” She repeated, though it sounded less like an echo, and more of a twisted question.

She grabbed his wrist, his skin still strangely and painfully raw even though it was healed.

Her touch stung as she _flung_ him to the ground with all her might.

He was breathing _hard._

He wanted to run.

He couldn’t speak, no matter how badly the pleads wanted to worm their way out from his stomach. 

“ _You can’t.”_ She repeated again, calmly.

He instinctively tried to shield his face with his arms, but she _jerked_ his cuff, making him go flying forward.

In an instant, she violently _slammed_ her heel into his elbow.

He could _feel_ a SNAP, the bone grating as his head spun to look at his arm.

It looked bent in all the wrong places, but he couldn’t feel anything.

It felt so numb.

Before, a tidal wave of pain _crashed_ into him _._

Agonizing, debilitating pain radiated from his arm, and he shakily tried to drag himself away from Michael.

He was shaking so much.

He wasn’t sure if he even made a sound, as Michael repeatedly _stomped_ on the injury, mercilessly _twisting_ her heel into the broken bone. 

“No. You _can._ It’s just that you _won’t.”_

She _yanked_ at his unharmed arm, forcing him on his knees as the whip materialized in her hand, blinding, _burning_ in all of it’s holy glory.

All the air escaped him at this moment.

Without hesitation, she cracked down the whip _repeatedly_ , the heat of it _peeling_ his skin with each lash, his heart pounding in his ears as the tormenting pain never ceased.

He wasn’t sure if he screamed.

The blood in his ears was _deafening._

Though.

It all _stopped_.

He barely noticed the wet tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked up at her, not meeting her eyes.

She wasn’t looking at him, the whip completely dematerialized and suddenly absent in her hand.

No, she was staring wide-eyed at a figure in the gateway.

“...Brother.” She said in less than a whisper, with a guilty stare.

_Gabriel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops
> 
> New writing flow, next chapter's gonna be up on Friday, December 15. 12/15/20, EST!
> 
> I appreciate comments a lot! Even though I don't respond to them immediately 90% of the time, they really make my day and make me happy that people actually like my writing lol, so big thanks if you comment.
> 
> (P.S. I headcannon that Gabriel was a Dominion before he was upgraded to Archangel.)


	5. Apologies

The sight sent chills down his spine.

He couldn’t process it. 

It felt like the world stopped, time pausing as his eyes landed on Michael. Her eyes were dark, and  _ angry,  _ with a well-known apathetic  _ cruelty  _ embedded in her bright blue eyes. 

He was used to that look. 

He just wasn’t used to it on  _ her.  _

All the soft expressions he was accustomed to hardened, now were stiff and calm. 

There was no trace of her once gentle eyes. Her hand was raised above her head, holding a glowing  _ whip,  _ looking down at an unidentifiable cowering demon below her. 

Her hand  _ CRACKED  _ down like a lightning bolt, booming and demanding for answers. The nauseatingly familiar sound made him  _ violently _ stumble backwards, holding his hands up instinctively in alarm. 

He was  _ sick _ .

The demon looked so  _ broken.  _

Disfigured, bones bending all in the wrong places, and thick swelling red lines burned into his back. 

And the  _ screams.  _

The screams gave him chills. It sounded halfway between a cat being skinned alive and a pig set on fire. 

Was… this what he looked like?

As he held onto the frame of the gateway, Michael’s head  _ snapped _ towards him, bitter and annoyed, her mouth open as she prepared to yell at him for interrupting. 

But, before any harsh words shot out of her mouth, her face completely  _ fell  _ as she met eyes with him _.  _

Everything  _ hard  _ about her expression  _ dropped  _ in a matter of seconds, giving him a guilty and lost stare, all the words leaving her in a flash. 

She didn’t know what to say. 

Gabriel was still. 

An empty image of a dusty bookshop flashed before his eyes. The whip slowly dematerialized from her hand, dissolving in the air as it disappeared, still holding her gaze with Gabriel. 

“ _ Brother…”  _ She said quietly, the words barely squeezing out of her tightening throat, reaching out a hand toward him.  He didn’t even notice he took a step back from her until she gave a pained expression. Like  _ she  _ was the one tortured. 

“I can explain. Let me explain.”

“Explain then.” He whispered, looking at her. 

He wasn’t afraid of her, no matter how high the red flags rose in his mind. He knew she wouldn’t hurt  _ him _ . The demon was another story. 

His fists clenched, the tension in the air spreading to his shoulders as they rose, shaking from the pressure. 

“ _ Explain.  _ Because- you- you know what this looks like? Like you’re  _ torturing  _ someone.”

“No,  _ no- _ I-” She sounded like she was desperately justifying her actions, more to herself than to him. She sounded audibly unsure.

“Michael, this isn't right.” It sounded less like a statement, and more of a plea. 

“It- They’re a  _ demon-” _

_ “He was one of us.”  _ He said, quietly, with the intensity of a  _ scream _ . Michael’s eyes widened as Gabriel took a step forward. “He was one of  _ us _ . You- you can’t do this. Why are you  _ even _ doing this, Michael?-”

_ “Because I have to.”  _ She said, sharply, the words bursting from her chest. She retracted, her face contorting to a hesitant expression as she looked to the side, her hands slowly clasping firmly at her front. 

“I… need to do it.” She corrected, pushing up the words from her stomach, in a low voice. “For you-”

“I never  _ ASKED  _ for this!” He yelled, no trace of discernible anger in his voice, but the desperation was overflowing. His tongue felt tied, inflexible, foreign and thick. 

...Was this his fault? 

Was she torturing random demons because of  _ him _ ? 

Did he  _ really  _ screw things up, even if he didn’t mean to? 

“I never WANTED this.” He took an exasperated shaky breath, rubbing his face with his palms as he lightly paced.  _ “Jesus  _ fucking  _ Christ,  _ Michael. I-I don’t want...  _ whatever _ you’re doing- Whatever you  _ think  _ you’re doing. You of  _ all _ people should  _ know  _ that.”

Michael was dead silent. “...What can I do, then?” She asked, quietly, looking at him, slightly anxious. “I want to help.” 

“You can help by  _ leaving _ .” He said without hesitation, simply, not looking at her. He could feel her slightly deflate, hearing him. 

“Go. Now.”

“Brother-”

_ “Please.”  _ The silence was tangible, weighing on his shoulders like an AP high schooler’s backpack. He glanced at her furlorn expression, his jaw clenched as he gestured towards the open gateway. 

It gave a continuous monotone low hum. 

“We’ll… talk about this later. I promise.” He said, quietly, his voice hard as he made his way towards the demon. 

He was slumped over like a sack of flour, visibly straining to carry his own weight, his breathing shallow, wheezing and labored. 

It sounded like it physically hurt to breathe, some invisible rope constricting around his throat tightly, keeping him from breathing or speaking properly. 

Taking a glance over his injuries made him self-consciously graze his fingers lightly over some of his own over his sleeves. 

He knew his sister was capable of… things. 

She’d fought in the Rebellion, as did most angels. He knew that she’d have done some things. 

He just never fully understood the effects of it, until he experienced it himself. 

As lightly as he could, he placed a hand on his back, making sure his skin contact was the bare minimum. He didn’t like touching strangers much. His fingers were soft and gentle, but firm as he hesitantly closed his eyes and focused.

He hadn’t used any miracles in a while. 

It was a bit hard for him to think and really  _ focus,  _ without feeling the constant looming dread of Aziraphale hovering over him. 

He wondered what he’d think of him using miracles like this. 

Maybe, he’d get angry. 

After all, this whole ordeal was his fault, he brought Michael to torture some poor random demon for some unknown reason. 

Or… maybe. 

…Just this once. 

He’d... hug him. 

Tell him he was good. 

The demon gave a sharp sudden gasp, more in surprise than in pain, the bones sewing together in a revoltingly startling  _ SNAP.  _ The lash marks stitched together in an instant, the deep, bleeding, swollen red marks fading in a matter of seconds, washing away, leaving smooth, mark-free skin. 

Exasperatedly, the energy seemingly  _ drained _ out of him, the demon wobbly leaned towards him, visibly tired, and rested his forehead very delicately on his collarbone. 

Gabriel couldn’t help but flinch a little in alarm, his hair grazing his neck, highly uncomfortable for demonic energy to be  _ this _ close to him. 

Demonic energy felt like a loaded gun, and here it was, aimed at  _ him _ .

“Look- er... sweetheart. Too close. Personal space.” He said, with a note of anxiety. He placed his hands on his shoulders and pushed him back as lightly as he could, but something caught his attention. 

Big, stunning, golden serpent eyes looked up at him. 

Two slits eyed him wearily, visibly slowly coming out of his drowsy state, his foggy empty eyes clearing as they both stared. Red auburn messy hair covered his forehead, a little greasy and frayed. 

Gabriel couldn’t help but stare, he  _ couldn’t.  _ It was like his eyes were anchored to the figure in front of him, and no matter how much he tried to forcefully drag his gaze elsewhere, it was  _ stuck.  _

It took a few seconds for him to register who he was. 

The Serpent of Eden. 

_ Aziraphale was going to fucking kill him. _

He didn’t know what to do, stuck in place, his feet glued to the floor as Crowley looked at him, a dawning guilty curiosity awakening on his face. 

As the silence stung, Gabriel wrung his wrist, a nervous tic he developed quite a while ago. 

He thickly swallowed, mustering the courage to look at the demon who probably resented him for bringing him to this situation.

“...Are you okay?” He asked, worriedly. The panic started to rise in his chest. 

His eyes flickered over Crowley’s chest, drawing attention to his half-naked self. The serpent crossed his arms over himself. 

It felt… uncomfortable to say the least. 

Seeing him like this. 

He severely doubted Aziraphale would appreciate him seeing his demon shirtless, without sunglasses, in an interrogation void, bound and restrained with one of heaven’s most powerful cuffs. 

He knew that somehow, Aziraphale was just watching this. 

He half-expected him to walk into heaven and utterly  _ destroy  _ the place like it was judgement day. 

He didn’t know where to set his eyes, instead settling his purple pupils on the white shiny ground beneath the two. 

Crowley laughed weakly, as if it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “‘S all just _lovely._ Great. It’s all just so _bloody_ _wonderful_.” He said bitterly, his quiet voice dripping with sarcasm, lifting his head. 

He seemed to retract it a little guiltily, noting his expression as Gabriel’s face pulled into a slight wince. 

The room fell. 

“...I mean…” He said, clearing his throat as he looked at Gabriel, after a thick pause between the two. “I’ve been through worse.”

He knew that was a lie.

“Here-Here, let me-” He paused, reaching for the leather straps binding his wrists, stopping as he read the various sigils engraved on the outside. 

His fingers absentmindedly grazed Crowley’s skin, not able to bring himself to lay his entire hand rested on the leather. 

Just touching the cuffs felt… oddly  _ wrong _ . 

Alarming, even. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it felt like holding the  _ sun  _ in the palm of your hand, a powerful beating fiery object encapsulated in just a few strips of leather. 

He recognised a little of the dangerous sigils and runes from some of his time in the Rebellion, with one of his closest siblings being the leader. Granted, he hadn’t fought in it, but there were some things he was familiar with. 

_ Michael made this.  _

With even the slightest mistake, he  _ knew  _ it could all just  _ blow up _ . 

Some of his overwhelming worry must’ve shown on his face at some point, because Crowley looked up at him, his expression concerned and serious. 

“So? What is it?”

“I… I’m so sorry…” He apologized in a whisper, rubbing his face with his palms. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry I- I can’t- I can’t- I  _ can’t- _ ” He choked. 

Aziraphale was going to  _ kill him.  _

He was going to  _ eat him alive.  _

It was only a matter of time until he realized his demon boyfriend was gone, that the vacant space where Crowley was, wasn’t normal. He, in a silent panic, instinctively looked at his watch, suddenly acutely aware of the weight of the gold on his wrist, weighing him down like a boulder strapped to his arm. 

The time hadn’t changed. He didn’t know. Or…  _ was he testing him?  _ Did he already know, and expected him to show up, unprompted? What if he didn’t show up, then? Would he destroy heaven in search of him? 

He clenched his fist, in a meek attempt to try and stop himself from shaking.

“...Hey.” Crowley sounded oddly soft, reaching out towards him slowly a guilty reflective glint in his eyes. 

Gabriel was frozen as the demon comfortingly laid a gentle and light hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t used to that. He tried his best not to flinch. “Breathe. In. Out. M’kay?” He commanded quietly, his golden serpent eyes searching Gabriel’s. 

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until he pointed it out. His hand shot up from his side, covering his mouth tightly as muffled whimpers squeaked from his throat. It felt like his windpipe was rapidly collapsing in on him, making it harder and harder to breathe. 

He could feel his heart wildly pound in his chest, his arms restless and jittery as he tried his best to follow Crowley’s instructions. 

He took a trembling breath in, and slowly steadily exhaled, mirroring the demon doing the same as him, in front of him. 

As his breathing slowed to a steadier pace, Crowley removed his hand, leaving a warm invisible imprint on him of where his fingers once were. 

Gabriel rolled his stiff shoulder, rubbing it.

“...So, tell me, what’s going on. Is it dangerous?” He asked, concerned. 

Gabriel lightly shook his head. 

“No, it’s- I- I just can’t remove it. It’s too... powerful.” He admitted, a little sheepishly. He looked at Crowley, with a slight frown. “The only way it can be removed is if Michael wants to.” He said in a low voice, his eyes drifting to where the gateway once was. 

He knew that though she wasn’t here, she was probably watching the two of them from afar. 

Crowley gave a low deep hum, a heavy, exhausted kind of sound. 

“And I doubt that’s happening anytime soon, yeah?” He said, looking up at him. 

Gabriel didn’t know what to say. 

The serpent’s hands moved to the cuffs, fiddling with the leather, as if he half-expected him to just be able to slide out of it like he always had. 

“Bastard.” He muttered under his breath, before giving a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll try to talk to her. Get her to stop doing this.” He said, quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I will.”

“And she’ll listen?” He asked, with a raised eyebrow. 

“She will.” He said, without hesitating. “She listens to me, we go way back. You don’t-” He paused, trying to find the right words. It was just on the edge of his tongue. 

“You don’t  _ deserve _ this. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He blinked, thinking to himself. 

The warmth in his cheeks slowly drained, leaving him pale. 

“...Does she  _ know _ ? Did you… tell her?” He whispered calmly, his voice so monotone, that it showed how spine chillingly  _ petrified  _ he was. He didn’t want  _ her _ getting hurt by  _ him _ .

Crowley didn’t move. 

It took a few seconds for him to slowly shake his head, though something on his face didn’t translate to  _ relief.  _ Like there was some bitter part of him that was angry at himself for not spilling. 

It was like he  _ wanted _ to tell her. 

Did he really  _ hate _ him that badly? 

Nevertheless, he was beyond relieved. 

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, suddenly aware how stiff he felt, every muscle in his body tense and stiff as a board. Though Crowley didn't seem nearly relaxed as him, sitting crossed on the empty floor, directing his attention at him. 

His eyes wandered to the side, focused on the horizon of blank white space behind him as he fiddled uncomfortably with the leather bands strapped on his wrist. He looked at Gabriel, words forming at the base of his throat, but never fully forming. He wanted to say something. The quiet hum between the two was far from palatable. Gabriel shifted in place. 

Kneeling down was uncomfortable and made his feet sore, but for some strange reason, he couldn’t bring himself to move even though he was free to.

“...Sorry.” Crowley broke the silence with one word.

He peered intently at him, tilting his head quizzically, visibly taken aback. “...What?” 

The demon gave a light humorless laugh, looking at his surprised puppy-like expression with something strangely similar to mild regret. 

He adjusted himself silently, putting his elbows on his knees. 

“For making the...  _ stuff _ . I’m sorry.” He said, quietly. “I…” He cleared his throat, looking up at him with his big bright snake eyes. 

“...I never thought he’d go that far. I thought he was just going to…  _ stop  _ one day. Get bored. Things would somehow magically go back to normal.” It was hard for him to meet his serpent eyes, those little slits seemed compellingly dangerous. 

He wasn’t used to seeing him without his sunglasses, so looking at Crowley made him feel like he was looking at him  _ exposed _ . But, what was much stranger was how  _ genuine _ he seemed. 

“I never thought he’d… hurt you. That  _ much _ . It’s not an  _ excuse  _ or anything- I’m just  _ really _ sorry that I didn’t really…  _ do  _ anything. ‘Till it was... too late.” He took a breath. “...It’s a ...bad apology, I know.” He said, a bit awkwardly, with a thin, loose grin. 

His light smile was betrayed by the sorrowful look in his eyes, that heavy feeling of deep remorse and past mistakes. He recognised it. 

He, after all, was familiar with it.

“...You- You don’t need to apologize.” Gabriel said in a low voice, shaking his head. He reached out a hand, resting it gently on Crowley’s upper arm. He waited for him to pull away, but surprisingly he  _ didn’t _ . “I needed to learn modesty. I’m… prideful. Vain. And… he’s…  _ helping  _ me with that-”

He interrupted with a light scoff. “As if. I’d be surprised if you had a  _ drop _ of dignity left.” Crowley announced, sounding a bit annoyed. 

Though, oddly, his frustration didn’t seem directed at him though.

Gabriel shrunk back a bit, looking stung, silent. 

Crowley stared into the void, his eyes firm and hard, glaring at some imaginary figure in his mind, having a harrowing argument to whatever figure in his head was unlucky enough to linger there, before he turned to Gabriel. 

“Look. Angel.” He said, some of the intensity lingered in his gaze, which made Gabriel feel a little nervous. “All the things he told you weren't true. You aren’t  _ whatever _ he says you are. You  _ know _ that. He’s just taking out his anger on you. He’s a major arsehole right now, and all the things he’s saying is just to make you absolutely  _ miserable _ , not to really help you.”

Gabriel was silent yet again, visibly growing anxious. “...But… I-”

“Yeah, so what? You yelled at him for- like what? Six millenium? And that’s  _ it?  _ You really think that something like that deserves  _ torture?”  _

Gabriel didn’t know what to say, his lips sealed and unopened. His eyes kept flashing to where the gateway was, blinking and worriedly, not looking at Crowley. He didn’t want to speak _against_ Aziraphale. 

He’d know. 

Crowley let out a light sigh. “He can’t hear us in here. ...Warding and shit.” He said, as if reading his mind. 

“I…” He paused. “...I think that…” He tried to find the words, nervously rubbing his wrist as Crowley looked at him. 

He was used to predatory gazes, bone chilling eyes that seemed to silently convey danger without as much as saying a word. Though Crowley's predatory gaze was much different than Aziraphale’s. 

Instead of feeling afraid, Gabriel felt alarmed at how much attention Crowley paid to him. 

His eyes never wavered from him, listening intently, silently invisibly frustrated at  _ whatever _ being he was angry at. But, Gabriel knew for certain he wasn’t angry at  _ him.  _

“I… think that I… had it coming.” Gabriel forced out. “I’m a lot better now.” He said quickly, before Crowley could retort. He could see the words jump to his tongue. “Nicer, respectful, less- less  _ vain- _ ”

_ “Broken.”  _ Crowley interrupted.

Gabriel was silent, trying to find the words. 

“...If… If  _ she… _ didn’t want this to happen.” He looked up at him, his eyes desperate and desolate, trying to explain. 

“She would’ve  _ stopped _ him by now.” 

“So… I…  _ deserve _ it.” He quietly reasoned.

It was silent.

For the first time in a while, Crowley found that he had nothing to say.

Because he was right.

Instead, his expression flashed bitterness, and frustration towards what Gabriel now understood as The Almighty. His fists curled into his palms, his golden eyes resentful and spiteful towards the creator of the very universe, his sharpened serpent fangs bared. 

He wasn’t angry, no, Gabriel  _ knew  _ angry, and this wasn’t it. 

He was  _ disappointed.  _

In  _ her.  _

“...So much for  _ loving _ your children, huh?” He said tiredly, in a half-frustrated half-resigned hiss.

Gabriel felt like crying.

  
  


* * *

Aziraphale was worried. 

It’s been a few hours, nearing the end of a day, and his beloved demon was nowhere to be found. He’d knocked on Anathema’s door, even, to which she promptly  _ slammed  _ the door in his face. 

To that, he quickly concluded he wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t the type to run off like this, no matter how badly he wanted to. He glanced at the ring on his finger, giving a fond and light smile, except it echoed something sinister. Like a deformed menacing figure with a child’s voice. 

A wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

He tapped the pen lightly against his temple, humming softly to himself as he turned to his book, flipping through the pages. He just needed to explain. To make things clear. If he could just _talk_ to him a little more, he'll see things from his perspective.

He can’t get off that easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. 
> 
> More Michael and Aziraphale next chapter! Focused a lot on Crowley and Gabriel. Next chapter's up on 12/22/20.


End file.
